Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves)

by Morris, Steve

  Light and noise spilled out into the yard as the back door of the pub opened, and a man reeled out, clutching a beer bottle in his fist. Warg Daddy recognized him immediately. It was Weasel, one of the Spoon’s regulars, and he owed Warg Daddy beer money. There was little chance of that debt being repaid. Weasel never had any money, unless someone had taken pity and lent him some. But maybe Weasel could pay his dues another way. Leanna wanted the condition spread as widely as possible, and even low-life scum like Weasel were good enough for biting.

  The man clutched at a wooden table to steady himself as he lurched out into the cold air, his feet crossing under him to almost trip him up. He gripped the table tightly to steady himself before bringing his attention to focus on Warg Daddy standing at the nearby bench. Behind him, the door of the pub swung closed, sealing the sounds of laughter and music inside. A hush descended on the yard.

  ‘Hey, Warg Daddy,’ called Weasel, his breath forming clouds in the winter night. ‘Long time, no see.’ He took a swig from the bottle, but to his apparent puzzlement it was empty. He tipped the bottle upside-down to check that there was no liquid left inside, before tossing it aside with a shrug. ‘Buy an old friend a drink, would you?’

  Warg Daddy beckoned to him. ‘Come with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I have something to show you.’

  ‘Yeah? Wozat?’ breathed Weasel. He rubbed his hands together and stumbled forward, following Warg Daddy into the darkened depths of the yard where the shadows waited. ‘A few coins to share? Or a bottle of something to keep an old friend warm on this cold night?’ He grinned hopefully, a toothless grin that did nothing for his looks.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that,’ snarled Warg Daddy.

  ‘No?’ said Weasel, the smile dying on his lips as he noticed the Wolf Brothers lurking in the shadows. He nodded warily in their direction, greeting some by name. ‘That you over there, Snakebite? And you, Slasher? Meathook, too? All the boys are here, then.’

  The Brothers fanned out around him, blocking his exit.

  ‘What you got for me then?’ asked Weasel, nervously.

  Warg Daddy stared at him, expressionless. ‘A sack over your head,’ he said. ‘A rope to bind you.’ The Brothers closed in on him from all sides. Snakebite showed him the cloth sack. Slasher pulled out the length of rope and twisted it in his hands, snapping it taut.

  Weasel’s eyes widened, taking in the implements, before roaming uneasily around the ring of men, searching for an exit. Finally he returned to Warg Daddy. ‘Having a little joke with a friend, eh, Warg Daddy? No harm in a joke, I say. I likes a joke as well as the next man, that I do. No need to scare the shit out of a man, though. No need at all.’

  Warg Daddy laid a firm hand on the man’s collar. ‘You’re coming with us now, Weasel. And quietly, with no bother. It’ll be better that way.’

  Bring them to me unharmed, Leanna had instructed him. Alive and undamaged. We will need to care for them when the fever takes them.

  Slasher snapped the rope tight again, while Snakebite flapped the sack menacingly.

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’ asked Weasel. ‘You know, I just remembered I left my jacket inside the pub.’ He started to move back toward the building, but a wolf-tattooed arm shoved him back.

  ‘We don’t have to hurt you,’ said Warg Daddy. ‘But we’d be happy to do some hurting if it comes to it.’

  Snakebite threw out a meaty hand and grabbed at Weasel’s grubby collar, twisting it tight around the man’s scrawny neck. ‘Might be we’d like to do some hurting,’ he said. ‘Might be that hurting people can be fun.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the other Brothers, a general nodding of heads.

  Weasel peered at them with his beady eyes. He looked like a man who thought that hurting might be no fun at all.

  ‘Better to come quietly,’ concluded Warg Daddy. ‘All things considered.’

  Weasel threw up his hands in a gesture of submission. ‘Sure, yeah. Whatever you guys say. I’ll do it. Nobody wants to get hurt, do they? Not me, leastways.’ He flicked his eyes around the group of men, panic evident in the way his eyes flashed from one towering figure to the next, probing for a gap in that looming wall of muscle and black leather.

  Warg Daddy sighed. He knew Weasel well enough to guess what was going to happen next. It was all so unnecessary. Warg Daddy had put forward a good case for compliance. There was really no need for hurting. Hurting would lead to damage. And if Weasel got badly damaged, Leanna wouldn’t be happy. Not happy at all. He rubbed the top of his head with his thumb, rubbing away at the problems that made his head ache so much, hoping for things to turn out well, but expecting them to go badly.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Weasel lurched suddenly and dodged around Meathook, making a mad dash for it. He was surprisingly quick for a drunk and had obviously picked his escape route with some care. He hadn’t chosen wisely however. Meathook might have been the shortest man in the circle but he moved quickly and was a vicious bastard. A single right hook from his rocky fist knocked Weasel backward, stunned. He followed up with a slash of sharp nails across Weasel’s ugly face, whipping droplets of dark blood into a whirl. Weasel froze in shock, a move that guaranteed Meathook’s next blow hit him with full force in the solar plexus, folding him to the ground with a sound like a sack of flour bursting open.

  Warg Daddy scowled in irritation. It was already too late to do a thing. The Brothers moved in as one, kicking the raw crap out of Weasel, pummelling him with steel-toe boots, kicking till the blood sprayed over their trousers and gore spilled out onto the cold paving slabs of the yard. They were like that, the Brothers, too keen by half once the violence got started. He would have to speak to them about it later. He was Leader of the Pack, after all. But for now, events would have to take their course.

  They fell on the prone body, tearing at flesh with sharp teeth, slurping blood from severed arteries, ripping out organs in a frenzy of feeding. He just hoped they would leave his liver well alone. Only a lunatic would try to eat Weasel’s alcohol-rotted liver. For now he left them to their fun, wandering over to the enclosing brick wall at the edge of the yard and leaning against it to think through his next moves. In the old days he might have lit up a cigarette or rolled a joint, but none of that stuff did anything for a werewolf. Instead he rubbed his head, soothing his troubles away, seeking a clear path through his problems.

  The root of his present difficulty was Leanna. She had assigned him this task of finding more victims, promising they would spread the disease the fun way. But hiding in dark corners with ropes and sacks was no fun at all. His instructions were to bring his victims back to the house unharmed. But why not simply bite them? It would be quicker, easier and so much more fun. But Leanna was adamant. She wanted her test subjects undamaged, unlike Weasel.

  After a couple of minutes, Snakebite and Meathook shuffled over to him to report. ‘Looks like he’s dead,’ said Meathook nervously, unable to meet Warg Daddy’s stern expression.

  Warg Daddy turned his gaze to the tangled mess that had once been Weasel. ‘You sure about that?’ he muttered. ‘You totally sure?’

  Meathook shrugged. ‘Reckon so.’

  Warg Daddy grabbed him and shook him by the arms. ‘I fucking knew that already,’ he roared. ‘What do you think happens now?’

  Meathook shrugged again. Warg Daddy had to stop himself from slapping the man to the ground.

  Snakebite didn’t have to think too long before he found the answer. ‘Leanna’s going to be pissed off.’

  ‘Too right, she will,’ agreed Warg Daddy. He released his grip on Meathook and calmed himself back down. Getting angry never did any good. The Brothers had just demonstrated that all too well. Clear thinking was needed now. There was a solution here, if he could just find his way to it somehow.

  ‘But only if we tell her,’ said Snakebite.

  Warg Daddy nodded. Snakebite was right. The solution was simple, after all.

  ‘Better to keep this on
e quiet, I reckon,’ continued Snakebite. ‘What now?’

  Warg Daddy shouldered his way forward, heading down the side alley that led away from the pub and back to the road. The Brothers trailed in his wake, wiping blood from their faces and hands. ‘We find another. There are plenty more weasels where that one came from. And let’s try not to kick the crap out of the next one.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Upper Terrace, Richmond upon Thames, West London, waning moon

  Sarah knocked on Melanie’s door, taking a tray of food and drink up to her. Her sister lay in bed, the curtains closed, the bed covers drawn up to her chin. She opened her eyes as Sarah opened the door, and peeped over the duvet.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Ravenous,’ said Melanie. ‘Just tell me it isn’t soup.’

  ‘Soup? No, I cooked some chicken and vegetables. Is that okay?’

  Melanie pushed herself upright in bed so Sarah could place the tray on her lap. ‘That bastard fed me soup every day, like some kind of broth fetishist.’ She speared a piece of chicken onto her fork and thrust it into her mouth, chewing it heartily.

  Melanie had hardly spoken about her ordeal, and clammed up whenever Sarah pressed her for details. The fact that she had volunteered some information was a good sign. In fact, Melanie seemed much more herself today.

  ‘Well it looks like your appetite’s back now,’ said Sarah.

  ‘It never went away. I’ve been hungry for weeks. I must have lost pounds.’

  It was true that her body was emaciated. Melanie had never been skinny exactly, just slim-waisted and curvy where it mattered. Now the skin clung tightly to her collarbone, and her shoulder blades jutted out violently when she moved her arms. Her complexion had lost its bloom too, her hair now black as night against her pale face. Her beauty was still there, but she was a haunting ethereal shade of her former self. At least the wound in her side had healed now, and there was no sign of an infection.

  Melanie tucked in heartily. ‘Mm, this is good. So much better than gooey soup. And there’s nothing like coming back to your own bed after you’ve been strapped to someone else’s for the past couple of weeks, don’t you think?’

  Sarah did know what to think, in fact, but she held her tongue. Scolding Melanie about her dangerous lifestyle had never done any good before, and she didn’t think it would help now. Melanie would do what she wanted, heedless of what other people said. But there was one thing Sarah couldn’t let go. ‘You know what you have to do, don’t you?’ she asked.

  Melanie chewed her chicken stubbornly. ‘Yes. Make an appointment to get my hair fixed, and then move my social life back into gear as quickly as possible. Do you have any idea how many parties I missed over Christmas and New Year?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. That man who abducted you. You have to tell the police what happened. They might still be able to arrest him.’

  ‘No,’ said Melanie obstinately. ‘We mustn’t involve the police.’

  ‘Look, I know you don’t want to get into trouble. But even if you did steal money from him, what he did was a hundred times more serious.’

  ‘No,’ repeated Melanie firmly. ‘I’m not worried about getting into trouble.’

  ‘Then you must tell the police. He might do it to another woman. Men like him follow a pattern. He might kill his next victim.’

  Melanie stuffed more food into her mouth. ‘Believe me, if I thought he might do it again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go to the police. I’m not that selfish, whatever you think.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry that he might abduct another woman. I can promise you that he won’t.’

  ‘But how can you know that?’ pressed Sarah. ‘If he’s done this once, he’s almost bound to do the same again, or worse.’

  Melanie finished her meal and placed the knife and fork back onto the clean plate. She glared defiantly at her sister through narrowed eyes. ‘No, he won’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because James killed him.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, Whitehall, Central London, waning moon

  The Prime Minister was furious. No, that was an understatement. She had never been quite so angry.

  Someone would have to pay for this. Her, obviously. No PM could possibly survive the fallout from the massacre that had taken place at Trafalgar Square. More than one hundred people killed outright, a thousand more wounded. The number of deaths continued to rise, and might eventually reach hundreds. They were all civilians. Anarchists and mischief-makers certainly. Some may have been members of banned organizations. And they had gone looking for trouble, armed with a variety of weapons and initiating the bloodshed by killing a number of police officers. But that didn’t excuse the massacre that the entire nation had witnessed live on their TV screens. Heads would roll, and hers would be the first on the block. But she wouldn’t be alone. She would make damn certain of that.

  She glared around the COBRA meeting room, moving from secretary of state to minister to principal private secretary, waiting for each to lower their gaze before she moved to the next one. The new Foreign Secretary was present, an old political ally and a safe pair of hands in a crisis. But she was under no illusion that an ally could help her now. She needed more than allies; she needed a miracle. Finally her eyes came to rest on the steely stare of General Sir Roland Ney. The Chief of the Defence Staff returned her look, undaunted and unblinking. But eventually he too looked down at his briefing notes.

  ‘General,’ she began, keeping her eyes fixed on him. ‘I require two things from you at this meeting. Firstly an explanation for this evening’s events. Secondly your resignation. I plan to offer my own resignation at the end of this meeting, but I do not intend to go alone.’

  A clamour of protest from the others seated around the table greeted her announcement, but she waved it to silence angrily. ‘General, your explanation for the behaviour of the soldiers under your command?’

  General Sir Roland Ney stood to speak. ‘Prime Minister, please may I offer my sincere apologies for any embarrassment I may have caused.’

  She could hardly believe the man’s insolence. ‘Embarrassment?’ she shouted back at him. ‘This massacre was an outrage.’

  The General gave no indication that he shared this view. ‘You asked me for an explanation. Permit me to give you one. This nation is in a de facto state of war. War has not been declared by either side, but nevertheless, hostilities have been entered. In other countries, war has been made official. Russia was the first nation to make a formal declaration. China followed. They have been joined by Sudan, Somalia, North Korea, Turkmenistan, and Libya. Many other nations have not made an official declaration, yet their actions indicate that a state of war exists.

  ‘In each case there are two sides to the war. The forces of order, and the forces of disorder. I suggest to you that the forces of disorder are many, and that they are already winning this war. They have the advantage in recognizing that a state of war exists. If we do not do likewise, we will lose the war by default.’

  The Prime Minister directed a hard stare in the General’s direction. ‘So what do you suggest? Open conflict on the streets of London? Soldiers firing at civilians? Is that how we win this war, General?’

  ‘If that is what is required,’ said the General. ‘We have already glimpsed the alternative. Wolves on the streets of London, hunting and killing without restraint.’

  ‘I fail to see how that relates to what happened in Trafalgar Square,’ said the PM, her voice icy.

  ‘No nation may win a war against two opponents,’ said the General. ‘The wolves, or whatever you wish to call them, already number in the dozens, quite possibly hundreds. We do not yet fully understand their nature, nor the rate at which their numbers may grow. But we know the danger they present. They must be stopped immediately, otherwise they may become impossible to defeat. On th
e other side are the enemies within. We have seen them take ruthless advantage of the situation. Marchers, rioters, looters, murderers, anarchists and enemies of the state. From far and wide they are seizing the moment. They know that this is their opportunity. It is a time of supreme danger to the government. They will not find a better chance to strike. We must take control of the situation decisively and visibly, or else all will be lost.

  ‘That is my explanation. You may do what you wish with it. I also offer you my immediate resignation, as you requested. It has been an honour to serve.’

  The General fell silent for a moment, but continued to stand. ‘However, I must counsel you against offering your own resignation. At this time, strong government is absolutely essential if the war is to be won. Prime Minister, it is clear that you are the best-suited member of the government to lead the nation at this time.’

  The General turned to stare at each of the other politicians in the room. ‘Prime Minister, you are a giant compared to these others. None are fit to replace you. It would be a catastrophe if you were to step down at this most perilous moment.’

  The General sat down again and was greeted with a stony silence. The Prime Minister could hardly believe the man’s arrogance, his conviction that his men’s actions had been justified. And the notion that she might continue in her position was untenable, ridiculous. She waited for the others in the room to contradict him.

  Then the new Foreign Secretary began to clap.

  The PM stared at him in amazement. The Foreign Secretary was joined by the Home Secretary, who stood to his feet. Soon the entire COBRA team were on their feet clapping and cheering. They were not cheering for the General she realized, they were cheering for her. Despite everything that had unfolded, maybe even because of it, they wanted her to remain as leader. She had spent her entire political career giving speeches. Now, for the first time in her life, she was utterly speechless.